


The Longest Running Joke

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Castiel/Dean Winchester in the Bunker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Explicit Sexual Content, Implied Sexual Content, In Which Sam Fixes Everything, M just in case, M/M, Sam is a Good Brother, Sam's POV, Some Plot, Some angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 01:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16483619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: Dean drops his head. “Dude, Cas and I?”Sam narrows his eyes. They drift for a brief second, only to try and process that elusive statement.“Sam, you’re the one that went to college. Aren’t you supposed to be more progressive?”“Dean, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”“You—?” Dean laughs. “Cas and I are together, man.”





	The Longest Running Joke

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween, babes!!!! <3

Sam’s sipping on chai and reading the Sunday paper when he bears witness to something even more abnormal in the lives of Winchesters: Dean and Cas, leaning against opposite ends of the kitchen counter, talking. They’re not arguing about each other’s recklessness, between Cas’s frequent physical vacancy and Dean’s emotional, nor what’ll turn out to be a very irresponsible decision. They’re talking about _Ozark,_ of all things, and Jason Bateman’s diverse acting resume. Cas is pointing out inaccuracies _The Wire_ apparently handles impeccably. Then Dean mentions _Breaking Bad_ and Cas turns into his own mad scientist.

Dean just sips his coffee in silence—mesmerized, in a way, by Cas’s know-how and interest in narcotics.

Sam pretends to be invested in _Pickles_ when Cas excuses himself. He can hear the heavy plot of Dean’s bare feet on the tile, and, out of the corner of his eye, see the plush belt of his grey robe swinging before he takes a seat next to him. “Anything good?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, you know me; I’m just into the A&E section.”

“Really?”

Sam looks up.

“Then why is the A&E section on the table?”

Sam’s head darts from his brother’s to the unread printout. “Oh, uh, I haven’t gotten to it yet. Something in the obits caught my eye.”

“Who died, Garfield?” Dean asks, peering over to what Sam’s reading. Sam snaps the paper shut.

“Are you and Cas okay?”

“Yeah… why?”

“Nothing, I’ve just never seen you two less at each other’s throats.”

“Oh we’re definitely at each other’s throats.”

“What?”

Dean drops his head. “Dude, Cas and I?”

Sam narrows his eyes. They drift for a brief second, only to try and process that elusive statement.

“Sam, you’re the one that went to college. Aren’t you supposed to be more progressive?”

“Dean, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You—?” Dean laughs. “Cas and I are together, man.”

That’s _definitely_ not what he was expecting… okay; maybe he’s not surprised, what with being a ten-year-old splinter in their relationship: Usually, they jump back and tend to Sam whenever he interrupts them. But this time, this _whole time,_ they’ve probably been building up to something Sam doesn’t want to picture. “Together? Like… _together_ together?”

“If you wanna be a child about it, sure.”

“I… how… when—?”

“Remember the night that rakshasa took a clean slice out of my leg?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Well, Cas was healing me and one thing led to another…”

“Dean, that was three years ago.”

“Yeah.” Dean throws his head back, as if this whole reveal is as shocking as Kim Kardashian unclasping her bra for a photoshoot. “I could’ve sworn you knew… huh. Anyway, I’m going to the store. Need anything?”

“An eye rinse kit,” Sam deadpans. “Rubbing alcohol should do just fine, too.”

“Okay,” Dean replies instantly, confirming that Sam’s words slipped from the narrow tunnels of his head, “be back soon.”

~.~

“Mornin’.”

“Licking, Missouri. Small town sixty miles east of Lebanon. Three thousand people minus twelve. Victims all vagrant and all found on the side of a road, just outside the local forest, with quote ‘a significant amount of brain matter coloring the asphalt’. Rogue wraith?”

“I’m doing fine, Sam, thanks for asking.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Coffee?”

“No, I’m good.”

“’s possible,” mumbles Dean, sluggishly reaching for the tea kettle on the stove. It’s one of those ones from the fifties: long and turquoise with its nose pointed at the ceiling. “Won’t know ‘till after my coffee.”

Dean pours the grounded beans the dripper and the steaming water into there. It bubbles to the surface, cating the dark pigment from the beans to the sidelines before sinking like quicksand into the ‘Ask Me If I Can Care Less’ mug beneath it. Dean removes the funnel and brings the chalice to the bow of his nose and inhales. He hums against the porcelain, then dips the cup for a sip.

“Are you done with your Taster’s Choice moment?”

Dean opens his eyes and nods. Gripping the cup with two hands, he moves to sit next to his brother. “Alright, so what? Wraiths have a grudge against the homeless now?”

“I think they’re just easy targets,” Sam says, “if you have no family or friends to speak of—”

“No one’ll bother looking for you.”

“Right.”

“Hmm.”

“Hey, um, speaking of looking for people, should I have been looking for you last night?”

Sam’s surprised Dean’s next intake of coffee goes down smoothly. “What do you mean?”

“I heard loud banging from down the hall,” Sam replies, but not without scoff. It’s hard to believe Dean’s finally pulled his head from his ass so Cas can fit. “You and Cas really went at it.”

Dean blinks a few times. “What’re you talking about?”

Sam laughs, “Seriously? Were you that hungover?”

“Wait, you mean what I said yesterday about me and Cas being together?” Dean sets his mug down with a laugh of his own: “Sammy, it was a joke. I just wanted to get a rise out of you yesterday, that’s all. What? You really think I’d bang Cas? Could you imagine?”

 _Everyone and the population of China,_ Sam thinks. “What about the rakshasa?”

“The rakshasa?”

“Didn’t you say you and Cas had a fling after he patched you up?”

“Dude, he healed me, I went to my room and watched some _Peaky Blinders_ before I fell asleep. That’s it.”

Sam manages to shake his head despite doubt weighing heavily on his shoulders. “Alright,” he concedes, “sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. It just seemed genuine.”

“Sammy, we lie for a living,” is all Dean says before inquiring about the case.

~.~

Sam’s a light sleeper. So the first _thump_ is the one that jolts him awake.

Gun in tow, he slips out of bed. The pounding grows louder and quicker with each cautious step, as if whatever’s at the end of the long, narrow corridor is taunting him.

Sam picks up his pace, but still treads light enough to be unheard.

Hidden behind the wall just before the open doorway, Sam flips the safety off his gun. Then, swivels in one-eighty to come face-to-face with—

Castiel. Because Dean’s face is currently being smothered by Cas’s—

“Sam.” Removing his hands from the wall like it’s molten lava, Cas harrumphs: “Uh… what brings you here?”

“The ghost of my brother’s heterosexuality.”

~.~

“Why were you so afraid to tell me?”

“I don’t know,” Dean sighs, back in his robe and in the kitchen, holding his same mug. Sam knows him. He knows he’s not lying about that, because Dean’s pushed his feelings so far back, it takes a ladder for Sam to be secure enough to reach them. “I guess I was just scared you wouldn’t see me the same.”

“Dean, I’ll love you whether you prefer ceramic or Tupperware,” he laughs tiredly as he shakes his head, “whether you sleep with a guy or a girl the night before you chop the head off a vamp you’re still gonna be the gun-slinging, shit-talking, stubborn son of a bitch I’ve always known.”

“Will I though?” Dean sets his mug down. “Or will it just make me easier to attack?”

Sam tilts his head back. There it is. “Dean, loving Cas doesn’t make you weaker. It makes you stronger. Think about it, when’ve you ever had a reason to keep fighting aside from honoring Dad’s promise to look after me?”

“But when he died, Sam… I didn’t feel strong. I felt the opposite of strong.”

“Then fight for him, damnit,” Sam emphasizes, “Fight to have him in your life as long as you can.”

Dean nods through a well of unshed tears. “You know, you’re not bad… for a college kid.”

“Neither are you for a high school dropout.”

Dean huffs a laugh at that, and Sam has to admit: As much as he wants Dean to talk to him, he basks in this rare moment of stillness. Before the next evil threatens their existence.

“Dean?”

Or the next angel calls for Dean.

“Yeah?” Dean sniffs before clearing his throat. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

“Is everything okay?”

Sam, who’s facing Cas in the doorway, responds with a nod and a wink.

In the meantime, Dean scrambles to tighten his robe and pick up his mug. He doesn’t forget to salute his brother with it before Cas takes his other hand and guides him through the dark.

Sam has a feeling it won’t be the last time, either.

 


End file.
